


Come All Ye Faithful

by Balder12



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Church Sex, M/M, Public Sex, Wing Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-07
Updated: 2012-12-07
Packaged: 2017-11-20 12:39:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,664
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/585516
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Balder12/pseuds/Balder12
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean molests Cas's wings in a church bathroom on Christmas Eve.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Come All Ye Faithful

**Author's Note:**

> Done for dc_derringer's second prompt, asking for wing fic. The wings here are a little . . . unusual, but hopefully you'll still enjoy them. :-)

Dean shoved Cas against the wall, and brought down a rain of potpourri from the wicker basket on the shelf overhead.  A snow globe containing a Christmas tree tottered perilously.   Cas tried to angle them away, and slammed his hand into the plastic angel figurine on the back of the toilet.  It clattered to the floor. 

Dean broke the kiss and picked a dried rose petal out of Cas's hair. "Maybe a church bathroom isn't the best place to make out," he said.

Cas grabbed the angel by one fluffy wing, and slammed it back into place, a little harder than strictly necessary.

"I suppose we can go back to questioning witnesses, if you prefer."

Dean did  _not_ prefer.  He'd dragged Cas in here to keep him away from witnesses.  They were supposed to be questioning the church staff about a possible gargoyle while Sam was outside, talking to the visitors at the living nativity.  Not much had changed since the days when Cas held his FBI badge upside down, though.  He was quite possibly the least convincing fed ever, in spite of the J. Edgar Hoover-approved trench coat.  Around the time that Cas asked the deacon how many demons he'd exorcised in the past month, Dean decided to distract him before his "help" completely undermined the investigation.  They were going to fuck in this bathroom for the good of the hunt.  

"Nah," Dean said.  "I've done it in way worse places." The words were hardly out of his mouth before Cas grabbed him by his tie and dragged him in for a kiss.  

Cas had studied Dean's body with angelic devotion.  It could be maddening sometimes, the way that Cas touched him with such precision, like he was calibrating a delicate instrument, even when Dean had him pinned to a bathroom wall.  But goddamn, it worked.  The fingers sliding between the buttons of Dean's shirt tugged at his nipple in exactly the right ratio of pleasure to pain, the lips on his neck found the perfect place at the base of his throat to suck.  In half a minute Dean was riding Cas's thigh like a horny teenager.  Cas scraped his nails across the bulge in Dean's suit pants, and Dean gasped and jerked back, colliding with the toilet. 

This time Cas caught the figurine before it fell.  He glared at the cockblocking angel like he was tempted to smite it.  "This idol is an insult to my species," he said.

Dean thought that he should probably at least try to take that statement seriously, but when he looked at Cas being all solemn with his epic sex hair and swollen mouth, he could only smile. 

"The wings are ridiculous," Cas insisted.  "We're not birds."  

Cas's bottom lip was too wet and shiny to resist.  Dean ran his thumb along it.  "You don't have wings, then?"  He was disappointed.  Something had always stopped him from asking about it--it felt rude, somehow, like it was too personal to bring up, even with someone who had Dean's cock in his mouth several times a week--but Dean had jerked off more often than he cared to admit to the image of gleaming white wings beating over his head while Cas fucked him. 

Cas darted out his tongue and licked the pad of Dean's thumb. "Of course I do.  I just don't have feathers.  My true wings are made of light and will.  In the material realm, my wings conform to the nature of my vessel."

Dean didn't know what that meant, but he knew that he wanted to see them.  Now.  He'd already booked a one way ticket to the special hell by fornicating with an angel in a church on Christmas Eve.  He might as well go first class.

"Show me."

Cas gave the tiny bathroom a skeptical once over.  "I don't think they'll fit."  He was right.  The two of them could barely squeeze in as it was.  But Dean was thinking with the dubious logic of a man halfway to orgasm, and now that he had the idea in his head, he wasn't about to let it go.

"It'll be fine.  You can bend them, right?"  Cas looked unimpressed.  "Think of it as my Christmas present."

Cas sighed.  "Tomorrow is nowhere near the actual birthday of Jesus," he said, but he was already hanging his coat neatly over the hook on the back of the door.  His tie and shirt quickly joined it.  Cas pressed his hand to Dean's chest and pushed him away, toward the center of the room, and then followed, restoring the points of contact between shoulder, hip, and knee.  It took Dean a moment to understand:  the wings needed room to expand. This was really happening.

"You're awesome," Dean said.  Cas smiled the smile that Dean liked best, a subtle softening of the lips, and a bright, feral gleam in the eyes. Dean kissed it before it disappeared.  Cas wrapped his arm around Dean's neck and held him close.  He heard the rustle of the wings unfolding and opened his eyes.

They were huge.  Cas's wing span was longer than the back wall, so that one wing bent inward against the door, and the other almost hit the shelf over the toilet.  Cas had been right.  There were no feathers, none of the majestic, snowy plumage that had fueled Dean's imagination.  They were black, and the lines of the skeleton were clearly visible under the delicate covering of skin, which was opaque along the huge finger bones, and nearly translucent in the broad spaces in between. The light showed through them, revealing an elaborate webbing of veins.

"They're, uh, bat wings?" Dean said, trying to sound neutral.  He hated bats.

Cas glanced back at them curiously.  "I suppose they're similar. I've never seen this manifestation before, myself.  The vessel is mammalian--it stands to reason that the wings would be, too."  

Cas leaned back and the wings settled around him, bent against the walls at a 180 degree angle.  Dean hesitated.  These weren't the wings that he'd wanted to molest.  He didn't even want to touch them. But he could hardly say that to Cas, after nagging him to show them off.  You don't insult an angel's wings.  It's like telling a guy that you expected his dick to be bigger.  

A tapping sound brought Dean out of his brief paralysis.  He looked to the right, and saw the tip of Cas's wing drumming against the back wall like a finger.  It was such a human gesture of impatience.  Dean smiled.  It made the wing seem less alien, somehow, more a part of Cas.

"Can I?" Dean asked.  Cas nodded.  Dean reached out tentatively, and ran his hand down it.  He expected it to feel leathery and dead, but it didn't.  Although the skin looked naked, it was soft and furry as peach fuzz, and warm as blood.  Along the line of the bones the fur felt thicker, like worn velvet.  Dean ran his fingernail along  the upper edge of the wing.  Cas gasped, and the wing flinched back against the wall.   

"Sorry," Dean said.  "That hurt?"  He looked up.  Cas was glassy-eyed and panting.  A dark red flush was creeping up his chest.  It didn't look like pain.

"Yes.  No."  Cas swallowed. "I just didn't expect them to be so sensitive.  It's . . .  Don't stop."  It was less an invitation than a command.  Dean grinned and gripped the top of the wing with more confidence, digging his thumb in along the side.  Cas cried out.  Loud.  

Dean shushed him, and then leaned in, resting his weight against Cas's side.  He nuzzled his lips against Cas's ear and said, "You want me to play with your wings, you have to be good.  Silence."

Dean cautiously settled his hand back on the wing, and Cas bit down on his bottom lip so hard that Dean thought he might draw blood.   He didn't make any sound, though, so Dean rubbed his hand in a gradually expanding circle.  The wing quivered, and some nameless muscle tensed and relaxed under his touch.  Cas's body was as taut as a bowstring, and shaking hard.   Dean scratched his nails up and down lazily, and the shaking turned into thrashing.  Cas's head tossed from side to side, his eyes wild.  

It was almost too easy.  Dean kept Cas panting and squirming with one hand, tracing meaningless patterns first on the left wing, then the right.  His stomach still twisted a little when he looked at the skin webbing between the bones, but the disgust tangled with his excitement, until he couldn't tell them apart.  Cas pushed his hips toward Dean, seeking friction, but Dean angled away, just out of reach.

"Nuh uh," Dean said, and twisted his knuckle along the place where wing met shoulder.  Cas would've fallen to his knees if Dean hadn't been holding him upright against the wall.  "You're gonna get there just fine.  Don't even need me touch your cock." 

A whimper of frustration escaped from behind Cas's abused bottom lip, but Dean didn't relent.  He leaned against Cas's side, instead, and kissed the pink skin of his throat, salty-sweet and sticky with sweat, before moving on to his cheek and the damp hair at his temple.  The hand that wasn't occupied with the wing lay firmly on Cas's chest, feeling his heart race.  Cas's hips jerked without rhythm as he writhed, making desperate little thrusts toward nothing.

Dean rubbed himself against Cas's thigh, giving himself the relief that he was denying Cas.  Cas was too far gone to do much more than clutch a the edges of his suit coat, but it hardly mattered.  The wings might not be beautiful, but Cas was when he was like this.  Seeing him broken down was as good as being touched.

Cas's stomach tightened the way it did when he was about to come.  The wing flapped weakly under Dean's hand, almost colliding with the shelf.  

"Good, you've been so good," Dean murmured.  Cas got off on praise.  "So quiet.  My perfect angel.  Come on now, and let go.  Come for me."  Cas shoved Dean's hand off the wing, instead, and for an instant Dean wondered what he'd done wrong.  Then he heard it, too.

There were footsteps in the hallway outside.  Dean and Cas both froze.  Even their labored breathing suddenly sounded intolerably loud.  The footsteps approached, accompanied by the voices of two women.  Dean willed them to keep walking, but they stopped inches from the door.  One of them was talking about wrapping her grandchildren's Christmas presents.  Son of a bitch. The only sane thing to do was to keep still and hope that the women didn't decide to stand there and discuss Furbies all afternoon.

Screw sane, Dean decided. He was going to finish what he'd started.  He clamped one hand over Cas's mouth, and rested the other one back on the wing.  Cas gave Dean his best 'you've got to be fucking kidding me' look, but Dean started petting the soft skin, and Cas lifted his gaze to the the ceiling like a martyr.  Thanks to some superhuman exercise of restraint, Cas barely moved at all, his thrashing distilled to a fine trembling.  Reassured that Cas wasn't going to give them away, Dean petted the wing more roughly, trying to push him over the edge.  Cas held back, his muscles locked in resistance.  Dean scraped his nails down the velvety fur, but though the trembling grew stronger, it still wasn't enough.  He recoiled a little from the next thought that occurred to him, but this was a battle of wills now, and he was going to win it.  He lowered his mouth and flicked his tongue along the upper edge of the wing.  Cas's eyes rolled back in his head, and his hips thrust forward one more time as he stained his trousers.  Not a single sound escaped from him.  Even now, he was good.

Cas went slack.  Only being caught between the wall and Dean's weight kept him on his feet. They leaned together, muffling their breath against each other's necks.  After a while like that, the voices of the women retreated.  Somewhere, a door shut, cutting them off.  

Cas caught Dean's eye, and for a beat they stared at each other.  Then the wings snapped shut around Dean like a trap, muscular and inescapable.  Cas stumbled forward until Dean's back hit the opposite wall.  Dean caught Cas's raw bottom lip between his own and soothed it with his tongue, but Cas was in no mood for tenderness.  He kissed Dean with a force that bent his head back, and his hand tore at Dean's zipper.  The wings held them so tightly together that there was barely room for Cas to get a hand between them, let alone to jerk Dean off, but Dean was close enough that the awkward angle didn't matter.  It wasn't going to take much.  

The wings pinned Dean's arms to his sides, so that he couldn't do anything but surrender to the tongue in his mouth and the hand on his cock.  He arched his back and slid against the wing trapped between him and the wall, and Cas moaned against his lips.  Dean squirmed again, deliberately this time, and Cas dug his fingers painfully into the back of Dean's neck.  Perfect.  Dean writhed continuously against the grip of the wings after that.  He could feel Cas pressing against his thigh, already hard again through the wet spot on his pants. 

Suddenly, the hand job stopped.  Before Dean had time to protest, Cas picked him up by the waist and turned him around to face the cocoon of wings that separated him from the wall. Cas leaned heavily against his back, so that his cock was shoved into them. Dean wasn't sure what the plan was until Cas whispered in his ear, "Move."  Dean did as he was told, and the fine, almost invisible fur provided delicious friction as Cas ground against his ass.  Dean felt tension building at the base of his spine. "Should I . . . ?"  In spite of everything they'd just done, he couldn't quite believe that he was about to come all over an angel's wing. 

 "Yes, Dean, do it.  _Please_."  Cas sounded so desperate, and that was it for Dean.  He shot in long stripes that showed white and obscene against the dark wing.  He was tempted to leave it that way, to know that some secret part of Cas was filthy with Dean's come.  But Cas was still behind him, hard and unsatisfied, and that would never do.  Dean started licking the wing clean.  The lightly furred skin felt strange under his tongue, but it tasted like Cas, and the flavor of the two of them mingled was comfortingly familiar.  The wing trembled.  Cas bit down hard on the back of his neck and came. 

Cas used his last shred of energy to turn Dean around again, and then sank against his chest, sweaty and exhausted.  Dean was immensely grateful for Cas's mojo right now.  They were both wrecked, and if he had to do the walk of shame through a church, he'd probably die of embarrassment.  Or, more likely, Sam would.   

The wings were still wrapped around Dean, but they held him gently now. It felt like being hugged by a fuzzy blanket.  He was unsure at first where to put his arms, since the wings blocked the path around Cas's waist.  Then he figured out how he fit into this new shape, and draped them around Cas's neck, instead.  

"These things are amazing,"  Dean said, stroking the place where wing met back.  "I can't wait to get you someplace we can take our time.  I'm going to tie you down and make you scream."

"Wings," Cas said, his voice groggy and muffled against Dean's neck.  After a moment he added, ". . . are good."  Dean couldn't have agreed more.

 

 


End file.
